TIME: Almanac 1995

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<text id=94TT1731> <title> Dec. 12, 1994: Bosnia:A Letter from Sarajevo </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1994 Dec. 12, 1994 To the Dogs </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> BOSNIA, Page 33 A Letter from Sarajevo </hdr> <body> One Thousand Days of Solitude By Zlatko Dizdarevic, translated by Ammiel Alcalay Rightly or wrongly, many Sarajevans lay the blame for the bankruptcy of Balkan policy at the feet of the U.N. and its Secretary-General, Boutros Boutros-Ghali. Their bitterness and desperation are reflected in the following dispatch by TIME contributor Zlatko Dizdarevic, which was translated by Ammiel Alcalay: It is cold in Sarajevo, and people are hungary again. During the summer, after two months of having a road open to the outside world, we had the feeling that things might turn around. Then, at least, there was some hope; now all hope has been buried. We hear people say, "Sarajevo is abandoned, left alone." It's remarkable how people who say such things really don't have a clue. The world--at least the part that makes decisions--was never with Sarajevo or Bosnia to begin with. To say we've been abandoned now only adds insult to injury. Come Jan. 1, Sarajevo will have been under siege for 1,000 days--1,000 days of solitude. How can anyone say that it is only now that we've been abandoned? Some may remember the recent image of that seven-year-old boy who was hit in the face by a sniper's bullet in the middle of Sarajevo, holding on to his mother's hand as they ran past a U.N. armored personnel carrier. As the boy lay dying, his face was turned toward the asphalt, his left hand raised to his head, soaked in his blood. His name was Nermin Divovic. He wasn't killed by surprise, by a shell. He was sought out by a Serb sniper who waited, got him into his telescopic sights, looked at his face and then pulled the trigger. Then the same sniper shot Nermin's mother in the stomach so she would not die immediately, but would watch her son die first. That is the reality of Sarajevo and Bosnia and Herzegovina, the place where U.N. Secretary-General Boutros Boutros-Ghali says that a war is being waged between "Side A and Side B." Sarajevans wanted to tell Boutros-Ghali last week that Nermin Divovic, tracked down in a rifle sight and shot in the face, is not Side A, just as that creature who killed him is not Side B. That is why Sarajevans welcomed Boutros-Ghali on his recent visit to the city with a concert of boos and hisses the likes of which haven't yet been heard in this city. Two placards stood out: one, scrawled on a piece of cardboard torn from a box that once perhaps contained humanitarian aid, simply said GHALI HITLER; another said GHALI ISN'T A MAN. The first summed up political opinion around here, namely that fascism's heavy boots have marched over the backs of Bosnian civilians to steal into Europe, aiding and abetting a new Hitlerism. The second slogan was Sarajevo's own special way of expressing its contempt for the U.N. Boutros-Ghali was probably unaware that these four words dealt the lowest possible blow ever dreamed up by the legendary sports fans of Sarajevo. In former days of glory, die-hard fans used to berate bumbling referees with the same slogan: "The ref isn't a man." One of the referees said later, "I feel miserable. It's not a question of manliness, but that they've told me I'm nothing, a zero." Apparently he got it. Did Boutros-Ghali get it? Perhaps. His assessment that he needn't exchange his black cashmere overcoat for a bulletproof vest was right on the money. Nobody in this town would have fired a shot at him because he represents an organization for which the people of Sarajevo feel contempt rather than hate. If you looked closely at the faces of the girls shoving placards under the noses of the Secretary-General and his military entourage, you would have seen that they were laughing at them. The Sarajevo diehards who chanted "The ref isn't a man" will be the same people to help the blue helmets get on their way one of these days, even though U.N. commanders keep warning what "a difficult and complex operation" that will be. To leave the battlefield without having fired a shot has always been a difficult and complex operation. Fortunately, there are also those who stay in the battle, like my neighbor Amir. Unlike NATO, which cannot fly when it gets dark or foggy or when targets "retreat into the woods," he has already chalked up--by himself--15 Serb tanks. The army of Bosnia and Herzegovina has invested the following in Amir: half a uniform, one blanket, a dozen cans of food and an insignia. His mother provided the rest: a shirt, two pairs of socks and a sweater. So much for Side A and Side B. In our part of the world, fathers, that is, the men, have a duty to protect their seven-year-old kids. This is thought of as a natural duty. Around here, someone who doesn't do it but could (since he has missiles and rockets and planes to call upon) isn't considered a man. The Sarajevo diehards said what had to be said--whether it was then, at a game, or last week, to Boutros-Ghali and the U.N. The only difference is that this isn't a game. This is human misery, and the account has not even begun to be settled. Until that happens, it's worth surviving and watching the children. Then it's worth winning. There is no other way out. </body> </article> </text>